Thar Shaddin

The road from Trelham to Keltaris was a long, beautiful and fascinating one. A journey of over a week on horseback took one across fertile land and villages full of friendly farmers eager to lodge weary travellers, to a miles long and centuries old path that wound like twine between snow capped mountains.

Citizens of the great Eyropan empire and primarily human in these southern regions, the people made their meagre livings off the land in whatever way they could. The mountains themselves were no obstacle to these determined countrymen. Goats and crops dotted the landscape near villages wherever they could fit. Huddled away from the strange creatures and freezing weather of the mountaintops, these people, cradled in the arms of the Western empire, lived simple and relatively isolated lives.

Positioned at regular intervals between the villages, carved into the rock or perched atop the most imposing cliffs, abandoned temples stood alone and abandoned. Presumably left from the time of the changers, these structures had all been looted of anything that could be removed years ago. Their fortress like construction, frugal as it was with windows, kept the snow from entering and left their interiors cool, dry, and oddly free of dust.

Cervantes sat cross legged inside what he hoped was the last of these mysterious temples at the edge of the mountains. A sliver of light from above illuminated the crudely drawn map he was using for guidance. He wanted to clear his mind for the job ahead, not get distracted by the sheer impact the journey there was having on a young man who'd never been off the streets of Trelham.

Staring at the map, he could not judge how far away Keltaris really was. He didn't know how far a day's walk took him. His horse died two days ago, leaving him to trudge along on foot until he could buy a new one.

He would make it to Keltaris, or he'd die alone in the mountains.

The dance started slowly. A curve of the arm, a languid rotation of the shoulder. A whisper of expectation. Emotion, a bellydancer's trade currency.

Then the music snapped up to speed, a fast beladi rhythm, and Jasmina's body picked up time accordingly. Hips circled, traced rounds and figure-eights, and arms snaked and undulated. Shimmies of the hips and shoulders, punctuated by the occasional head or chest slide, drops of the chest and hips, a careful tightening and release of the muscles of her belly-- point moves, used sparingly to add flavour. Elements of the dance that were the spice, not the broth.

Jasmina finished in a low backbend, her long hair lightly brushing the floor, hands and wrists pausing in their graceful circles for a final pose. After the music had finished and the applause began, she rose, still naturally graceful even now that the dance was done.

The tavern where she performed tonight, and had done for the last few weeks, was one of the better establishments she'd been in lately. The drink was of fair quality, the patrons were prevented from becoming too rowdy, and best of all, every night there had been musicians to accompany the dancing. Jasmina could dance to the music in her head well enough, but she knew the audience would have greater appreciation for movement in time with something they could hear.

Yes, this tavern was far preferable to many of the hovels and winesinks she'd so often performed in. But then Keltaris was a more prosperous and enlightened city than most of the peasant communities she'd visited in her travels. She liked Keltaris, liked the feeling of culture and erudition, even if she didn't share in it-- but this wasn't home. Home was the road, and in time, a few more weeks at most, Jasmina would be moving on, as she always did.

Moving on to escape the shadows of her dead family, and the whispered lies of a treacherous lover. Moving on, carrying the child that slumbered in her womb, not yet animated with the spark of life that moved the dance. Always a Traveler, when the time came for the baby to be born, Jasmina would be far from here.

Salliniari's tavern was one of the safest and most upscale taverns in Keltaris because of one simple reason; it was being run by organized criminals with a penchant for criminal justice. Nobody with half a brain went into the place to cause trouble unless they wanted to end up as a rotting carcass in the sewers. Well dressed men who claimed to be working for Salliniari's family could be found all around the city brokering deals with local businesses, purchasing land, trading in illegal substances, and making trouble makers who got in their way disappear.

Salliniari's 'family' was, of course, the renowned Bendulli crime family. Extending its tendrils of power across all of South-Eastern Eyropa, the Bendullis shared Eyropa with four other major criminal organizations. The Mafia of Pal Tahrenor. Everyone knew about them, even if they did not know the extent to which these groups of murderers and extortionists really operated. They were there, they were powerful, and upsetting them was a bad idea. That's all anybody needed to know.

Unfortunately for a traveller like Jasmina, there was no sign on the door indicating that the establishment she chose as her preferred place of business was also the preferred place of business of men like Mister Salliniari. The impeccably well dressed in silk from the east, groomed and (apparently) beloved old man did not wear a name-tag divulging where he acquired his fortunes or why people around him respected him so much.

The only tip-off might have been his bodyguard; an entourage of five men dressed as only a henchman of the finest stock could be dressed. Tough polished leather, weapons at their sides, they did not look at all like businessmen.

They did not sit at the table with Mister Salliniari while he drank fine wine and talked business with one of his innumerable friends. Instead, they watched the doors and took ample care not to look like they were enjoying themselves too much. They all had faces that made looking angry very easy.

In recent weeks all of them took notice of the newest dancer to perform at the tavern because she was so different from the others. She had darker skin from either the south or the east - they did not know - and she danced in the style that they had seen before but never knew much about. She danced it with grace and dedication that put the others to shame and brought to their tavern a taste of human culture from far away.

Mister Salliniari liked her in particular. Jasmina the dancer made his tavern stand out while keeping it tasteful and upscale. Jasmina the woman was a creature he was very much contented to watch for as long as she would perform. It was Mister Salliniari who arranged for bonuses in her pay, and made sure that she felt as welcome as she could in his tavern. His visits became more frequent, even though business stayed the same.

He had no wife - she was killed by rivals of his in the Tarsis organization - but he had no illusions about what this girl would think about a man in his late 60's. His interest in her was purely formal and professional, which is why he carefully instructed the waitress to politely ask Jasmina if she would like to meet him and his friend Guido at their table to discuss her performance at his tavern.

Jasmina draped a colourful fringed shawl loosely around her, exposing slightly less skin and keeping warm now that she'd stopped moving, but without the finality of a change into street clothes.

She of course accepted the polite invitation. Though her interest in Salliniari was purely professional, there was no reason to be rude; the man gave her no indication his own interest was anything less than proper either. Jasmina often received such invitations from those who saw her perform, and as long as they seemed innocuous, she saw no reason to decline. Diplomacy suggested an open approach, and anyway, she enjoyed being friendly.

Her lack of romantic interest was no slight against Salliniari, who seemed a nice enough person, though she suspected he might truly be shadier than the image he projected. No, Jasmina wasn't inclined to feel romantic about any man at this juncture. She was too focused on the baby, too recently burned by love, and too conditioned by her culture to value permanent relationships to even consider any sort of tryst. Any contact with men would be purely in friendship, in her current state of mind.

Jasmina said a polite no to the glass of wine the waitress offered to bring her, and made her way to the table, unhurried but not dawdling-- a pace intended to indicate appropriate friendliness but not desperation for companionship.

"Good evening, Mister Salliniari and Mister Guido. Thank you for your gracious invitation. I hope I will not be a disappointment to you; my conversation is far less entertaining than my dancing. Still, I am pleased you have invited me."

Guido, like Salliniari, was an older white man. Both of them had practised and friendly faces, both of them had grey and thinning hair, and both of them wore silk shirts and gold jewellery that made them look like a million bishani. Salliniari looked the bigger of the two, with a longer face, deeper laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, broader shoulders and a heavier stature. His eyes were light blue - nearly light enough to be the colour of his hair - and he smelled like cloves and tobacco.

By Guido's posture, Jasmina would be able to tell that he was the more subservient of the two.He had a small, round head and thinning hair. He did, however, look at ease around Salliniari, as though the two were friends. He did not have the gravitas that Salliniari had, and he didn't do the talking, only nodded when she greeted them.

"Lovely evening, Jasmina. Please, have a seat." Mister Salliniari spoke while motioning to an empty chair for her with a hand. A waiter was quick on cue to pull it out for her.

"I'm the host and you are my guest." A hand with fingers splayed touched his chest, indicating his own person, while the other held a wine glass that sloshed on the verge of spilling with every gesture he made. "It's my duty to provide the conversation for you. Relax! Enjoy yourself. Your dancing has brought enough entertainment to this table already. We can always call on Guido to spice things up if they get dull, no Guido?"

Mister Salliniari slapped a hand where Guido's shoulder met his neck and squeezed there affectionately. Guido just smiled impishly, the butt end of a joke about his untalkative nature. Salliniari slapped him on the back twice and took the hand away, and Guido just looked at Jasmina and rolled his eyes. These two old men had been at this for a while.

"So tell me, Jasmina, where are you from and what brings you to Keltaris?" His free hand gestured everywhere while he spoke, motioning toward her this time. "You don't speak with the tongue of a Eyropan and I recognize your features from the East."

* * *

An hour's worth of meditation in the abandoned temple passed the time until winds and wet snow outside died down. Cervantes was not trained to meditate, didn't know what the word even meant, but it was in his nature to be still when there was nothing to do. The subject of his meditation was the crude map which his eyes never left for that hour.

I will reach Keltaris. These mountains won't stop me. I won't let them. Once I get there, the rest will be easy. The Tarsis won't regret choosing me... Not until I take over.

He did not know what his mission was. The instructions were kept in a sealed envelope in his breast pocket, ready to be read only when he had settled in Keltaris and gotten a feel for the city which was sure to be strange and foreign.

To Cervantes, it didn't matter what the mission was. He assumed he had to kill someone important. Someone who didn't expect a street urchin from Trelham to travel a thousand miles holding a knife with his name on it.

He stood, folded up the map, and shoved it into the inside pocket of his fur coat. His travel pack got lighter every day, although that was not a good sign. Half of his belongings had to go when his horse died. After heaving the leather sack onto his back, he pulled his hood over his head and stepped out into the blinding white snow and biting winds.

Down the path he trudged. His couldn't feel his toes anymore, which was much better than the pain he was feeling in them the previous day. Perhaps they were ready to fall off. His eyes hurt too, something he didn't know was even possible. They throbbed in his head, giving him a monstrous headache the moment he left the darkness of the temple.

He couldn't see well, and he couldn't feel much at all. If some mountain creature wanted to make a snack out of him, he probably wouldn't realize what was going on until it was too late. But what kind of creature would bother waiting for a snack to walk down this path? Nobody used it anymore. Probably not since the Changers' war.

That evening he crested a hill and saw the colour green for the first time in three days. Far, far below him, after a decline that would take another day to traverse, through the wispy clouds that hugged the mountains, he saw green. Green and orange fields arranged in neat little rectangles. It was the most beautiful sight he could remember seeing in his entire life.

Resisting the urge to drop to his knees and thank whatever god was watching over him, he continued on and that night he slept on dry land, below the snow line, under the shelter of a rocky outcropping. The land was dry enough to make a fire, but he had no timber, and no energy to go searching for scraps.

Jasmina took the offered seat, struck by the unusual courtesy of having it pulled out for her. She smiled in appreciation of the compliment about her dancing and gave an awkward little nod of thanks. Another smile at Guido when he rolled his eyes, but this one was fleeting, a brief acknowledgment of the joke, but not the sort of drawn out reaction that would make Salliniari think she was laughing at his expense.

She settled back in her chair, making herself comfortable, and answered Salliniari's question. "Sir, my people call ourselves Travelers-- those often referred to as 'gypsies.' For this reason, I cannot tell you the exact place of my birth, as I do not know it. My clan was journeying through Western Eyropa in that summer, but I cannot answer with more specificity."

"I have come to your city only to dance. To do so is my livelihood, and my heritage and my early life have taught me the wanderlust. I could not stay in one place for long. Keltaris is a lovely city, however. I am most impressed with it. The architecture, the learning the people demonstrate, the music and arts-- I have not seen its equal. I was here once before at the age of about five years, but coming again as an adult of greater understanding has increased my appreciation."

"You have correctly identified that my native tongue is not a local one. I was raised speaking a dialect of Romani, though my people found it much to their advantage to be conversational in the speech of the regions they visited. However, my accent and choice of words will always mark me as a foreigner. As for my features... it is likely that you are correct of the origins, but it is difficult to say for sure. The Travelers have become a great mix, and many have different looks."

"And now may I ask of you, Mister Salliniari and Mister Guido? Have you always lived in Keltaris? What points of the city do you find most striking? And what do you do for your own employment, aside from the keeping of this fine tavern?"

Guido and Salliniari exchanged glances at the start of her explanation, around the point when she said that she was a gypsy and didn't know where she was born. Neither of them interrupted her, which left the meaning of their silent exchange a mystery.

Like most Keltarians, Salliniari was proud of his city and its accomplishments in all the areas she highlited. They thought of themselves as the pinnacle of human civilization, and in some respects they were correct. Prosperity had much to do with it, and the Bendulli crime family had much to do with prosperity. Men like Salliniari believed much in giving back to the community, if only to enrich his own surroundings and public image.

"It is a lovely city. You will find none better on Pal Tahrenor." Mister Salliniari said in agreement. "And you are a beautiful woman who makes the city that much brighter with your dancing."

Guido's eyes danced between the two of them, looking back and forth quickly, as though he was worried about what might happen next.

Salliniari continued by answering her questions. "I was born here, after my father and his father before him. Our family is a part of this city, and it is the community that fashions us. It warms my heart to walk the streets here. The people are my life, and you can feel the energy from them. We have the best art, the best architecture, the best minds on Pal Tahrenor here. I have travelled across Eyropa but never found a place like Keltaris.

"As for my money. I work in trade. It is very lucrative around here. If you ever need anything, anything at all, come to me. I would like to have you here as long as you can stay, before this... wanderlust you have carries you off. You are staying here in the rooms upstairs, yes? They will be free for you from now on. Guido here runs this place while I'm away, he can show you around, eh Guido?"

The suspicious look on Guido's face vanished the instant he heard his name and when Salliniari looked at him, he just gave an emphasized, slow shrug.

Salliniari continued, lowering his emphatic voice a few notches. "Guido can't talk. He has to write what he wants to say. You can read, yes?"

Jasmina noticed the looks that passed between the two when she spoke of her background, but she didn't press the issue. When some people thought "gypsy," they thought of a thief or a beggar. Maybe they thought she was one of those-- though her mother had taught her that stealing was a sin, and her dancing was a far more marketable skill than begging would be, even if pride did not stand in her way, which it most certainly did. Others thought her people were magical or tricksters, but Jasmina was about as magical as turnip, and she was far too serious-minded to care for tricks. And she hated lies. Hated them. She'd had her utter fill of liars.

Rather than wondering if they'd heard some such slur, or the exchange meant something else entirely, Jasmina simply let it pass. Acquaintance with Jasmina would either prove a negative assumption wrong, or it wouldn't, but she'd be gone soon anyway. Whatever their silent exchange meant, good or bad, she saw no reason to discuss it with the two men.

"I thank you for your compliments of my dancing. Though I love the dance for its own sake, it makes my heart proud to know it is enjoyed by others."

"I have been staying here at the tavern, yes. The accommodations are most pleasant." Truly, by her standards they were palatial, but to state things in such effusive terms might seem like an attempt to curry favour. Jasmina wished any favours she earned to be based on her own merits, not her ability to flatter. The tone she took with the two men, she considered merely polite. "I am thankful to you for providing it, and for Mister Guido's assistance that you have offered to me, as well as your many other kindnesses to me. If I need help, I will certainly ask."

Jasmina tried not to let any shock show about Guido's muteness. "I can read, sir, yes. Though I am no scholar, I am sure Mister Guido will be able to make himself plain to me."

Her gaze turned to Guido. "Sir, how did the sadness of your lost voice occur? Was it from birth, or perhaps some illness or accident?" Her tone betrayed more concern than curiosity. She knew that the answer, if one was given, must either be written out or given by Salliniari, but it seemed rude to address the question straight to Salliniari as if Guido wasn't sitting right there.

Cervantes awoke early, barely able to see a few feet in front of him through the morning fog. It was cold and the air was saturated with dampness. Still, it was warmer than any of the previous three days, especially in the few places where the sun made it through sporadic clouds and bathed the ground in its honey glow.

He trudged along, and in a few hours it was too hot to keep wearing his fur coat. The damp and shaggy thing found itself discarded on the side of the path in the dirt, too heavy and worthless to bother being carried along.

Growing up as a human, with nobody to teach him how to live as a fox and help him overcome the inherent difficulties, living in his own fur to cope with long periods of cold was not an option Cervantes considered. To him, the beast he turned into was for killing. Nothing else.

A few more hours of walking took him to the farms he could see from the mountain. Huge patches of wheat and other crops flowed with the wind, many in stunning shades of orange and deep green. Apricot trees lined the path, which became more pronounced as it separated properties and let toward a small town ahead. Clouds raced their shadows along the ground, adding more brilliance to the hues. Behind him loomed the blue and white mountain ranges he'd traversed, and far to the sides was nothing but rolling hills of the most verdant pastures.

This was something Cervantes had never seen in his life. The wet, mouldy, rotting streets of Trelham were a cesspool of filth by comparison. Even the farms before the mountains were nothing compared to what he was confronted with in this part of Eyropa. It left him awestruck. To Cervantes, the world was not a place that contained such beauty.

The more he walked along the path to the town, the more thoughts of never returning home snaked their way into his mind. He could take the money the Tarsis had given him for the mission and never go back. They'd never find him out here...

But he knew nothing else; no trades, not even how to cook for himself. There was no other way to live. A pretty view was only worth so much and it would not put food on the table. His job had to be done. He was here to kill someone. Kill them so that he could live the life he wanted.

He reached the town and found an inn to spend the night. The people were as expected, simple and friendly. It was easy to keep to himself in the mostly empty place after feeding the owner a lie about going to Keltaris to meet with family.

That night he slept like a baby, breathing clean warm air and cradled in soft down blankets.

* * *

"Ah, excellent." Salliniari exclaimed when she said she was already spending her nights there. "If it wasn't free before, it is now."

He sipped his wine and nodded in dismissal while she thanked him for the accommodations, as though it was nothing at all to thank him for. "Don't worry, Guido's no scholar himself. The old man forgot everything he learned in school years ago."

Again, Guido shrugged in helplessness. He seemed to enjoy the jesting.

Jasmina asked them about Guido's inability to speak and Guido immediately looked away. Both of the men's eyes took on a grave look, a seriousness saved for their hard business lives. He knew Sallinari would answer the question for him, and didn't want to think about it himself.

"Someone cut it out," Mister Salliniari said. He put his hand on Guido's shoulder once more. "It was a quarrel a long time ago. But these things happen, ah? I'd have done it myself but they beat me to it."

The final remark was met with a snipping motion of Guido's fingers, directed at Salliniari. The gravity of their situation washed away when he told the joke, neither man wanting to brood on it. The alcohol helped with that.

Jasmina was shocked and horrified to hear that the loss of the tongue had been the result of a purposeful act of violence, and her mingled surprise and sympathy showed on her face. She'd expected to hear of a disease, an accident, or a birth defect-- any of which would have been tragic enough. That it had been done deliberately was even more disturbing.

It made her wonder a bit about Keltaris. The city seemed so peaceful, so wealthy and educated, almost a utopia. Were there criminals hiding there, an underbelly of lawlessness so violent as to do things like cut out a man's tongue? Jasmina was tempted to ask Salliniari how to protect herself from these dangerous elements, but it seemed rude, like a criticism of the city he clearly loved so much. She resolved that she would simply keep to the busy, safest-seeming parts of town, and avoid being involved in any quarrels. She certainly didn't want to lose her own tongue!

The violence that had befallen her clan had made her extra-wary, careful to avoid skirmishes of any kind. There was no reason to think that in Keltaris, she would be unable to live as peacefully as she usually did. She reminded herself sharply that in spite of what had happened to Guido, risk was minimal for a bellydancer who caused no trouble.

She kept all of that to herself, of course. Jasmina merely regarded Guido with sympathy, and told him, "I am saddened for your loss."

Then, as both men seemed anxious to move on to happier matters, she added, "The two of you seem close friends. Are you relatives? Have you known each other all your lives?"

These weren't meant to be prying questions, and there was no hidden meaning behind them. She simply wasn't sure how else to make conversation with two people she didn't know very well, and to sit in silence was the mark of an unpleasant guest. This topic seemed as safe as any.

Guido offered her a humble smile and a nod in appreciation for her sympathy. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would be involved in criminal behaviour, or the kind of man who would get into a fight with anybody. He had a humility and a soft, good nature about him. The only suggestion that he might have a tough core behind his soft facade was that he was such good friends with Salliniari, who was anything but humble and quiet.

Indeed, if Guido wasn't so well dressed or in the company he kept, he might even be described as pitiable. Short, somewhat pudgy, with only a few wisps of hair to cover his pate, he could easily pass as a monk who'd sworn an oath of silence.

Salliniari knew better than to pity his friend.

"Related?" He laughed. "To this Debrucci?" The reference was to a smaller town on the shores to the south-east of Keltaris, where the people, though of the same heritage, were locally stereotyped as fools. "Of course not. I met Guido here... What is it now?"

The two looked at eachother, and Guido signed the number 24 by flashing his fingers a few times. Salliniary took on a mock dismayed look and nearly spilled his wine again. "Theogios deliver me, 24 years? That's almost as long as I knew Abella!"

Guido could only grin at the truth of that statement.

Salliniari realized that Jasmina wouldn't get the in-joke, and explained for her. "My wife. She died, and I'm left with a mute old man. Do you have a boy of your own, Jasmina? Someone to follow you around your wanderings and get jealous of old men like me staring while you dance?"

* * *

Warm sunlight through a window woke Cervantes up. He squinted, and blocked the light with a hand. Leaving so soon was going to take a fair amount of willpower. Another journey so soon like the one he'd just made would kill him.

At least now he could buy a new horse. One he would remember not to push so hard that it died.

It seemed these two men's lives had involved a great deal of tragedy, and Jasmina was impressed that they kept up their good spirits. The loss of a wife was even worse than the loss of a tongue, and it spoke well of them, in her mind, that they maintained their sense of humour. "I am sorry to hear of the death of your wife. May she rest in peace."

Distracted as she was by this great sadness for Salliniari, Jasmina nearly answered in the affirmative about whether she had a boy. She started a nod-- then the reality of her situation came crashing back, like a wave restrained but not stopped by the landwash. The nod turned into a shake of her head.

"Apologies," she said with a measure of embarrassment. "I do not mean to mislead. It is only that there was such a one, and things ended very recently. Sometimes when I think of other things, I forget that... no, there is no one now."

Then, concerned that Salliniari and Guido would not understand the depth of the relationship she had lost, and would make a kind but misguided attempt to cheer her up by setting her up with someone else, she decided to make a further point clear.

"I am with child by him, and that child must be my priority. My wanderings, for now, will be only myself and my baby when it arrives. This would be a poor time for a beau."

Realizing that she was probably starting to sound maudlin, Jasmina gave them a smile. "But this also leaves me free to give my attention to friends. I am grateful for the chance to have met both of you."

Jasmina didn't consider the two men to be her close friends, of course. They were acquaintances at most-- but all your friends were acquaintances when you traveled as much as she did. There simply was no time to form more lasting connections, and even if there was, it would only lead to missing the person upon separation. Jasmina was perfectly capable of enjoying someone's company as a friend for awhile, and then moving on. Naming these two as friends was not an indication that she intended to stay in Keltaris, or that she expected their ties to extend beyond her visit. Such ties never did.

His new horse was a mangy animal. Thin and sickly looking, it really did have the mange. Tufts of fur were missing from the brown beast's backside. It had trouble getting around as it was, and it seemed unlikely that this horse would fare any better than the last.

The pleasure of being graced with such a fine steed was not entirely Cervantes' choice. The small town had nothing more to spare for him, or at least nothing they were willing to part with for a reasonable price. His haggling skills were attuned to bargaining with small time criminals and thugs from the streets of Trelham, not friendly, honest country folk. The man selling the horse didn't trust him, as though Cervantes was trying to sell him some fake bishani. Cervantes felt entirely out of his element - too out of place to do what it took to get what he wanted. The price was a horse that might not make it to the next town.

As the town shrank away in the distance, and his horse clomped along with its head sagging like it knew what a miserable fate lie ahead of it, Cervantes couldn't help but think that perhaps he should have asked for a donkey instead.

The inexperienced adventurer thanked the gods that the rest of the trip to Keltaris was, at least according to his map, flat land. He traversed it on one of the many trade routes that spindled outward in all directions from the prosperous city, and spent that night at a previously used campsite within sight of the road.

It was warm enough not to need a fire, and as the moon climbed the sky overhead he could see shimmering lights from towns in the distance in a few directions, but particularly in the east, toward Keltaris. Even the roads had the occasional twin lights of a coach rolling down it. How could there be so many people, and how could it be so safe? Money could buy anything, it seemed.

The next day he made good time. By some luck of lady fate, his horse held out much better than he expected. He passed the odd person on the way, and at one point could see the glistening of armour and clouds of dust kicked up by what could only be a large division of Eyropan warriors. He wanted to see them closer out of curiosity - he'd never even seen a man in full-plate armour, let alone a whole division of knights - but they made better time than him in a different direction. Their tight formation and banners were impressive, even at such a distance.

When he reached the town that the knights were riding out of, he learned that the local people didn't know any more about their business than he dead. They were "just passing through" and the people didn't know where to, or why.

* * *

Salliniari was a little confused by Jasmina's nod, but Guido didn't even seem to notice the slip. He kept looking between Salliniari and Jasmina, and remained either unimpressed or unsurprised by the rest of what she said.

... There was such a one, and things ended very recently.

"Boys are like that, you know," was Salliniari's response. "You shouldn't trust them. They only want one thing!"

Then she said she was with a child, and Salliniari's eyebrows shot up, while Guido appeared to only half-heartedly feign his surprise for Jasmina's benefit. Indeed, he seemed more interested in Salliniari's response to her statement than in the news itself.

"I wouldn't have known by looking at you," continued the older man. "It won't be easy, travelling alone and pregnant. Stay here until your have your child, please. As my guest. You can dance until you get too big, and then you can stay here until you're ready to be on your way again."

Guido shook his head in disappointment, a gesture which Salliniari caught in the corner of his eye.

"Don't give me that look you rotten prune. I'm offering the poor girl some hospitality! Your mother raised herself a gutter minded sycophant in you."

Guido just looked as though he was innocent because he said nothing.

Yes, boys were like that indeed. Much as Jasmina wished she could deny it, protest that her love had been different and special, in the end Mikkel had only wanted one thing, and she'd given it to him. It wasn't something she felt any particular guilt over-- it had happened, and there was no point in self-flagellation, and anyway she had her child on the way-- but she could recognize that it had been a poor decision.

Nor did she think it was likely the future held the prospect of more truthful and lasting romance. Obviously her judgment was unsound, and few men would want another's child along with a woman anyway. That didn't matter, though. Jasmina didn't need a man's love to be happy. She'd done fine on her own, and soon she'd have a son or daughter to keep her company. The prospect of a life without a mate didn't frighten her.

Jasmina nodded to acknowledge Salliniari's comment about not knowing she was pregnant to look at her. "I am only three months along. Not enough that it shows, either in my form or my movement."

His suggestion that she stay pulled her up short. She hadn't intended to stop traveling so soon. Jasmina's mother had continued to dance while pregnant, even long after she started showing. Jasmina and all her sisters had been born perfectly healthy, and had learned from their mother how to continue to dance safely while expecting a child. Nor did the audiences seem to mind, as long as the dancer remained in top form.

However, Jasmina's mother had enjoyed the benefit of her clan around her. Jasmina was alone, and the road was always harder without family. That fact in itself made her seriously consider Salliniari's suggestion.

She could certainly see the benefits. A place to stay, steady income... maybe even enough that she could save for when the baby arrived and she was unable to dance... and access to medical care. No chance of being caught on the road when her time came, or left without resources upon the child's arrival. It would be safe.

But at the same time, for Jasmina six months was a long time to stay in one place. The thought of such stagnation filled her with restlessness and discomfort-- not exactly the ideal way to await the birth of her child. Could she bear it, being so sedentary?

It wasn't a decision she could make instantly.

"Mister Sallianari, I am grateful for your generous offer. You are most kind to me, and to my child. But I think you will understand it is a large decision. I have never stayed in one place for so long, in all my life. Lovely as Keltaris is, that would be difficult. I would fear to promise and then be unable to stay. Still, I know what you say is smart as well as kind. I am most grateful you have asked. May I have some time to consider? A few days, perhaps?"

Cervantes decided to keep his mangy beast. The pathetic animal, for what it was worth, was struggling and doing its best to serve him. He thought to abandon it, to give up on it when it finally collapsed or refused to get up after a rest stop, but it did neither. Something in him felt a small degree of empathy for the animal's suffering. Perhaps it was the many long hours he had to spend with nothing to focus on but the harrowed horse beneath him. The way its head sagged, the way it started to drag its feet when it fought against its urge to drop just to do what he demanded of it... He never pitied people, but he started to pity this animal.

Aside from that, horses did not come cheap. Indeed, he was quickly discovering that nothing came cheap in this part of Eyropa. The closer he got to Keltaris, the more expensive everything was. The people here had money - something that was going to stress his limited funds if he wasn't careful.

More days passed uneventfully. To his dismay, Cervantes saw no more signs of roaming armies. There were only farms and people, seemingly endless, living in peace and prosperity off the beautiful land. He learned that their lives were simpler than the lives of people in Trelham. The people were uneducated, most not even going to school, but that didn't seem to matter. If they weren't farmers, they knew a family trade. It seemed almost Utopian to him, if, perhaps, a little boring.

He also discovered that their wine was some of the best on Pal Tahrenor. With the money he saved by keeping his horse, he bought a few skins to keep with him and help him pass the late evenings alone.

The crude map he had was no longer necessary. Everyone knew where Keltaris was around here. All the roads led to Keltaris, they said. Just keep going straight.

And so by the fourth day out of the mountains, nearly two weeks after leaving home, the road beneath him changed from dirt to stone and the monotonous green curves of the horizon ahead parted for one of the greatest cities of humanity.

Even at a distance it was impressive. Gray and white buildings spanned an area too large to guess, crammed together like livestock huddling for warmth, glowed cleanly off the bright sunlight. Here and there the caps of structures he could only assume were mansions or temples towered over the surrounding houses with roofs trimmed with silver and gold that sparkled enough to hurt his eyes.

An extravagant stone sign carved with all kinds of artistic vines and leaves in immaculate detail announced the location in gold embossed lettering: Keltaris.

The city knew how to make an entrance. Cervantes did not. On the back of a mangy horse, cheap clothes and a leather backpack that was weathered and dirty even before he started the journey, the hair and unshaven look of a peasant, he was the most pathetic thing around. This realization had only one affect on his aspirations: he wanted them more desperately than ever.

* * *

"No, it does not show, that is for sure." Salliniari chuckled. He did not let the smile leave his face, even when she began to sound as though she might not take up his offer. Truth be known, he was only being kind, not possessive, and perhaps toying with a romance that was never going to happen. "Yes, yes of course. Take all the time you need, but I insist that Guido shows you the better rooms. I don't know where they've been keeping you, but while you're friends with me, you get only the best."

Salliniari's tavern did have two classes of rooms. There were the usuals, which were priced to be barely within the means of the average Keltarian, and there were the special, so called back-rooms, where the general public were not allowed. The building did indeed stretch in a confusing way back between the structures around it, so that the inside was not easy to navigate and seemed bigger than it actually was. What was a simple tavern to the public was, in fact, far more.

Jasmina might have noticed that the men who came for meetings would sometimes retreat in the direction of the rooms in a group, presumably to some private meeting space.